


Vhenan

by NorroenDyrd



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dalish Elves, Dorks in Love, Endearments, F/M, Fluff and Angst, One Shot Collection, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 10:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5494028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorroenDyrd/pseuds/NorroenDyrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of three very different elves and their three very different lovers, each couple bound together by one short, simple word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vhenan

**Author's Note:**

> The Lavellan I used here is the same as in the My Precious Heathen series.

***  
  
Vhenan...  
  
The word is like a feverish sigh, a gust of hot breath that scorches his own lips; he lets it slip by accident, dizzy and drunk with passion, as he thrashes in the murk of the tiny tent, with her milky-white limbs wrapped around his lithe, tan, sweating body. He starts at the sound of his own voice and freezes for a moment, peering in alarm into the witch's eyes, which burn, cat-like, with a steady amber glow, through the strands of black hair that his quivering, impatient fingers have let loose. Creators, she did not hear it, did she? She knows the lore of the People - she will realize what the word means... And if she does, she will push him away, scoffing.  
  
She made it abundantly clear, on the very first night, that there will be none of that. She despises mushy displays of feelings, and mocks the sentimental ballads that their bard sometimes hums around the campsite. And thus, she must never know. She must never know that there is more to the smile that he, usually so quiet and reserved, allows himself to share with her when they are alone - far more than a mere anticipation of pleasure. She must never know what ridiculous lengths he goes to in order to shower her with glimmering trinkets - she must never know that he is ready to carve his way through a horde of darkspawn, just to obtain the exact copy of the pretty golden mirror that her mother shattered when she was a child. She must never know what a bright, wild glimmer of dread lights up in his widened eyes whenever he sees her come into harm's way in the heat of a battle, and what a twinkling spark of boyish glee brightens his gaze whenever he watches her dispose of her foes with a single decimating blast of magic.  
  
She must never know that when that short, simple elven word escaped his half-open lips, in between huffs of strained breath, he actually did mean it.  
  
Oh by all the gods of his people, by the Taint that flows within him, by all that's holy and unholy - he did mean it. Come what may, she will stay in his heart forever.  
  
***  
  
Vhenan!  
  
The word is like a suppressed burst of laughter; happy and carefree, it bounces off her lips again and again and again, as she nuzzles against his face, like the playful kitten that her protective pirate friend likes comparing her to - and searches for new spots to kiss him in. Like the arching bridge of his nose, which is covered in freckles that she absolutely must count; or the top of his head, concealed beneath the glorious springy mane of light-brown hair; or the corners of his eyes, where the skin is warm and wrinkled, still holding the beautiful remembrance of each of his smiles - or the dimple on his chin, which tickles her with short, bristling stubble. She explores every inch of his wonderful, wonderful face, making him blush and chortle - and with every swift peck on his skin, she repeats the word.  
  
Oh, her clan would have probably been outraged, hearing her use the traditional endearment to address a human... But she is used to outraging her clan by now. She has always believed that her people's heritage needs to be restored - and what better way of restoring it than giving the old words their true, proper meaning? And if there's anyone in this great, big, confusing word that is worthy of hearing those words, he is the one. He who has always been there for her; he who never fails to come to her aid in an hour of need; he who is always ready to extend his hand to her when everyone else has turned away.  
  
Outside, the world is dark and cold and cruel, and storm clouds are brewing, to rage like they have never raged before - but for now, they are safe and blissfully happy, in here, in the warm welcoming shelter of a home the likes of which she has never had. And not just because it's big and has long corridors and beautiful wide staircases and shiny chandeliers that are so great for swinging - but also, and mainly, because he is here.  
  
And come what may, he will stay in her heart forever.  
  
***  
  
Vhenan.  
  
The word is like a simple, casual greeting; he barely moves his lips when he utters it, accompanying it with nothing else but a brief, simple nod. She mirrors the nod, without allowing her eyes to linger on his face, and turns towards the billowing, greenish-black smoke in front of them, strengthening the grip on her sword hilt. He, in turn, leans heavier against his mage's staff, and also looks ahead of him, where their adversary awaits.  
  
Last night, they were drinking each other's breath like wine, tireless, insatiable, revelling in every moment of the two of them were one. Now, they are one as well - but in a different way, in a way that came long before the stolen glances and the awkward flirting, before the tattered tome of forbidden poetry in her hands, before the heady smell of rose petals and the shimmering, enticing candle light, before the glaring pinkish marks on her neck that she tried so hard to hide during the war council meetings.  
  
They are one as they stand shoulder to shoulder, never faltering, never looking back - a single, unbreakable wave of destruction that will sweep across the battle grounds and leave the soil drenched in the blood of the wicked. She is the cold, hard steel that sinks, with merciless precision, into anyone that dares raise their hand against him, her lover and her best friend - and he is the seething torrent of mage fire that devours the poor wretches that as much as dare to make a scratch on the shield of the most beautiful woman in his entire world.  
  
Together, they step forth into the frothing maw of chaos and death - and as they do, a thought throbs deep within the darkest reaches of their minds, like a distant war drum - a thought that either, or perhaps both of them may not come back.  
  
But they do not speak of it - nor do they need to. All that they need is that short elven word that he spoke to her when she stepped towards him. For that word is a sign. A token. A reassurance that, come what may, each of them will stay in the other's heart forever.


End file.
